Chapter 4: The Sun's Embrace and a Secret Forged in Silence
The world narrowed to a single, horrifying point: Bran, his little brother, tumbling end over end, a small, fragile doll against the vast, uncaring stone of the First Keep. Time seemed to stretch, each heartbeat a thunderclap in Robb's ears, the noontime sun blazing not just above him but within him, a roaring inferno of power and protective fury.
MINE! The possessive, primal roar echoed in the core of his being, a perfect fusion of Tony Volante's fierce territoriality and Escanor's absolute pride.
There was no thought, only instinct honed by two lifetimes and amplified by divine grace. The ground beneath his feet cracked and splintered as he launched himself upwards and forwards, a golden-tinted blur of motion that defied human capability. His rangers, Kael and the ten men he'd summoned, had only just arrived, their expressions shifting from grim readiness to slack-jawed astonishment. They saw their young lord, a man they respected and were prepared to die for, literally explode into action, covering an impossible distance in a blink.
He met Bran mid-air.
It wasn't a gentle catch. It was a collision, the kinetic energy of a sixty-pound boy falling nearly fifty feet slamming into him. But Robb was, for that fleeting moment at the zenith of Sunshine, "The One." His body, an avatar of invincibility, absorbed the impact with a solidity that was absolute. He wrapped his arms around Bran, twisting in mid-air to ensure he took the brunt of any secondary force, his entire frame a living shield. For a microsecond, he felt a jarring shock, a force that would have pulped any normal man, but it was instantly negated, consumed by the ocean of power within him.
He landed, not with a thud, but with a controlled absorption of momentum, his feet sinking several inches into the hard-packed earth of the courtyard, the ground around his boots cracking in a spiderweb pattern. He was on one knee, Bran cradled securely in his arms. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by Bran's ragged, terrified gasps.
High above, from the narrow window of the First Keep, Robb saw two pale faces staring down – Cersei Lannister, her hand clapped over her mouth, her eyes wide with utter disbelief and dawning horror. Beside her, Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, looked as if he'd seen a ghost, his usual charming smirk utterly annihilated, replaced by a stark, naked shock. They had seen it. They had seen him catch Bran. They had seen the impossible.
Robb's gaze, burning with the intensity of the midday sun, flickered up to meet theirs for a fraction of a second. It was a look that promised retribution, a look that stripped away all pretense and laid bare a terrifying, implacable certainty. Then, his attention was solely on his brother.
"Bran? Bran, can you hear me?" Robb's voice was rough, still thrumming with power.
Bran was limp, his eyes fluttering. He was deathly pale, but blessedly, breathing. Robb's heightened senses, courtesy of Sunshine and perhaps a touch of Ban's thievery passively absorbing information, scanned his little brother. No broken bones immediately apparent, no obvious external wounds beyond a scrape on his cheek. The fall itself had been negated. The sudden stop, however…
Kael and the other rangers were frozen, staring. Hullen and Donnel, the guards Robb had posted, had dropped their tools, their faces mirroring the rangers' awe and fear.
Robb stood, Bran still held carefully. The power of noon was at its absolute peak. He felt invincible, magnificent, a god among mortals. The urge to stride over to the tower, rip Jaime Lannister out by his golden hair, and deliver summary judgment was overwhelming. Escanor's pride screamed for it.
But Tony Volante, the cold, calculating Capo, whispered, Not yet. Witnesses. Plausibility. Control the narrative.
He turned to his men, his voice resonating with an authority that was more than mere lordship. It was the voice of command, backed by undeniable, terrifying power.
"You ten," he said, his gaze sweeping over Kael and the rangers, "and you two," nodding to Hullen and Donnel. "You just witnessed a miracle of the Old Gods. They intervened to save the son of Stark. What you thought you saw, the details of how they intervened through me, are for them to know, and for us to keep silent upon, lest we invite their wrath or the misunderstanding of lesser men."
His eyes, still glowing faintly with an inner golden light, pinned each man. "Lord Bran slipped. I was nearby. I managed to break his fall. That is what happened. That is the only thing that happened. The details are… a blur of adrenaline and desperation. Is that understood?"
The men, hardened Northmen all, swallowed hard. They had seen their young lord perform a feat that belonged in songs of legend, moving faster than a striking viper, catching a falling boy as if he were a flung feather. They knew what they saw was no mere adrenaline rush. But the sheer force of Robb's presence, the unspoken threat underlying his calm words, was undeniable.
Kael was the first to find his voice, dropping to one knee. "My lord, as you say. The Old Gods were with you. With Lord Bran."
The others quickly followed suit, murmuring their assent, their eyes still wide with a mixture of fear and profound reverence.
"Swear it," Robb commanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous softness. "Swear on your honor, on your lives, on the memory of your ancestors, and by the Old Gods themselves, that what you saw here today – the true details – will never pass your lips to another living soul, not wife, not child, not priest, not even your own Lord Father Stark, unless I command it. The safety of House Stark, the very peace of the North, could depend on your silence. A secret of this magnitude, misunderstood, could bring ruin upon us all."
One by one, they swore, their voices thick with emotion. Robb felt the sincerity of their oaths. They were loyal, and now, they were bound by a shared, unbelievable secret. Tony Volante knew how to ensure silence: fear, loyalty, and a shared stake in the secret. He had just provided all three.
"Good," Robb said, the intensity in his voice receding slightly as he consciously reined in the Escanor persona. "Kael, attend me. The rest of you, return to your duties. Remember your oaths. Your Lord thanks you for your discretion." He needed to get Bran to Maester Luwin immediately.
As he strode towards the main keep, Kael at his heels, he glanced back at the First Keep. The window was empty. Jaime and Cersei had vanished. Good, he thought. Let them stew in their fear and confusion.
Maester Luwin's chambers were thrown into a quiet panic when Robb Stark entered, carrying a pale but conscious Bran.
"My lord! What happened?" Luwin exclaimed, rushing forward.
"Bran fell, Maester," Robb said, his voice tight with controlled emotion as he gently laid Bran on an examination table. "From the First Keep. I was nearby. I… I managed to break his fall." He deliberately didn't elaborate on how. He could see the unspoken questions in Luwin's eyes as the maester began his examination, his old hands surprisingly gentle.
"He fell? From that height?" Luwin's gaze was sharp, assessing Robb as much as Bran. Robb was outwardly unmarked, his breathing even, but Luwin, who had known Robb since birth, sensed something… different. A new level of intensity, an almost palpable aura of power that hadn't been there before.
"The Old Gods were watching over him, Maester," Robb said quietly, letting the implication hang. "And me."
Bran stirred, his eyes focusing. "Robb? My head… it hurts a bit. What…?" He looked around, confused. "The tower… the Queen…" His eyes widened with a flicker of memory.
"Easy, Bran," Robb said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You had a nasty fall. Maester Luwin is looking after you." He met Luwin's gaze. "He hit his head, Maester. Assess him for concussion."
Luwin's examination was thorough. Miraculously, Bran seemed to have escaped any broken bones. There were bruises, a few scrapes, and he was clearly shaken, but given the height of the fall, it was beyond belief.
"Remarkable," Luwin breathed, looking from Bran to Robb. "Truly remarkable. He will be sore, confused perhaps. He'll need rest and observation. But by all rights…" He trailed off, shaking his head.
"The gods are good," Robb stated, leaving no room for further inquiry into the mechanics of Bran's survival. He needed to establish the "official" story. He turned to Kael, who had been waiting silently by the door. "Kael, find Vayon Poole. The official word is this: Lord Bran, in a moment of youthful recklessness, climbed the First Keep and slipped. By great fortune, I was passing below and saw him fall. I managed to intercede, breaking his fall before he struck the ground. He is shaken, bruised, but Maester Luwin expects a full recovery. Spread this account. Calmly. There is no need for alarm."
Kael nodded, his face impassive. "Yes, my lord." He departed, already understanding his role in managing the narrative.
Robb stayed with Bran while Luwin fussed over him, administering a mild calming draught. The sun was beginning its descent from its zenith; the overwhelming tide of power was ebbing, leaving him still immensely strong but with a clearer head, the cold calculation of Tony Volante now more dominant.
"Robb," Bran whispered, his eyes wide and fearful. "In the tower… I saw… the Queen… and Ser Jaime…"
"Hush, Bran," Robb said softly, but firmly. "We'll talk about what you saw later. Right now, you need to rest. You are safe." He met Bran's gaze, conveying a certainty that brooked no argument. Protecting Bran's mind, what he knew, was now as important as protecting his body.
The news of Bran's "accident" and "miraculous" rescue spread through Winterfell quickly, though the version Kael and Poole disseminated was the carefully sanitized one Robb had constructed. It painted Robb as a hero, quick-witted and strong, but within the bounds of believable human action under extreme duress.
Robb knew Jaime and Cersei would hear this version. They would also know it was a lie. They had seen what he did. This created a new, dangerous dynamic. They knew he was more than he seemed, and they knew that he knew (or would soon know from Bran) their secret.
He left Bran in Luwin's care, instructing the maester to keep him quiet and allow no visitors except family. He needed to think. He retreated to his solar, the adrenaline finally fading, replaced by a cold, focused anger and the weight of new responsibilities. His actions had saved Bran from crippling injury or death, a massive divergence from the original timeline. But it had also potentially exposed a fraction of his power to his most dangerous enemies at court.
He considered his options regarding the Lannister twins. Confront them directly? Accuse them? He was still powerful enough, even with the sun past its peak, to dominate Jaime physically. But what would that achieve? Their word against his? Against a child's? Robert adored Ned, but he was also easily swayed by Cersei and blinded by his past friendship with Jaime. A public accusation now could backfire spectacularly, painting him as mad or a slanderer, and potentially endanger his father even more.
No. Tony Volante wouldn't play it that way. He needed leverage. He needed proof. Bran's testimony was a start, but it needed to be handled carefully. For now, the fear and uncertainty he'd instilled in the Lannister twins were potent weapons in themselves. Let them wonder what he knew, what he was capable of.
His immediate concern was his parents' return. How much to tell them? The truth about his powers was out of the question. The cover story of a lucky intervention would have to suffice. But Bran had seen something. That, at least, would have to be addressed.
The hunting party returned late in the afternoon, tired but in high spirits, a large elk slung across a packhorse. Word of Bran's accident reached them as they entered the castle gates.
Catelyn went white as a sheet, leaping from her horse before it had even fully stopped, and rushing towards the keep, fear etched on her face. Ned followed, his expression grim, his eyes finding Robb, who stood waiting for them in the courtyard.
"Robb! What is this I hear? Bran…?" Ned's voice was ragged.
"He's alive, Father. And whole," Robb said quickly, meeting his father's gaze. "He climbed the First Keep, slipped, and fell. I was there. I managed to break his fall before he hit the ground." He recounted the official, sanitized version, his tone calm and reassuring.
Catelyn, who had paused, listening intently, sagged with relief, tears welling in her eyes. "The Gods are good! Oh, Ned, our boy…" She rushed inside, presumably towards Luwin's chambers.
Ned looked at Robb, his gaze searching. "You broke his fall? From that height, son? Are you injured?"
Robb shook his head. "A few bruises, nothing more. Adrenaline is a powerful thing, Father." He knew Ned might find the explanation simplistic, but it was the only one he could offer. He saw a flicker of something in his father's eyes – pride, relief, but also a hint of that old concern, the feeling that there was more to his eldest son than met the eye.
"We will thank the Gods tonight," Ned said, placing a heavy hand on Robb's shoulder. "You did well, Robb. You saved your brother."
Later, after Catelyn had fussed over Bran and Ned had spoken with Maester Luwin, the four of them – Ned, Catelyn, Robb, and Luwin – gathered again in Ned's solar. Bran, though sleepy from the draught, had whispered to his parents about what he'd seen in the tower.
Catelyn was aghast. "The Queen? And her own brother, the Kingslayer? In… in such a way? And they pushed him?" Her voice was a horrified whisper.
Ned's face was like thunder. "If this is true… if they harmed my son to protect their shame…"
"It is true, Father," Robb stated quietly. "Bran saw what he saw. And they pushed him. I saw the window, I saw their faces. They know he saw them. They know I saved him."
"What did they see, Robb?" Luwin asked, his gaze sharp. "When you… intervened?"
"They saw me catch my brother, Maester," Robb said, his expression unreadable. "They saw me move quickly. Nothing more they can prove or that anyone else would believe." He held Luwin's gaze, a silent message passing between them. Luwin, wise as he was, likely suspected more but understood the need for discretion.
"This changes everything," Ned said, pacing the room. "The Handship… going South… it's a viper's nest, just as you said, Cat. And now they know Bran is a witness. They might try to silence him permanently."
"They might try to silence anyone who knows," Catelyn added, her eyes wide with fear, looking at Robb. "You, Robb! They saw you save him. They might see you as a threat."
"I am a threat to them, Mother," Robb said, his voice cold and hard. "And they will know it. Fear can be a shield, if wielded correctly." He paused. "Bran is safe for now. They wouldn't dare try anything overt here in Winterfell, not after this. Maester Luwin, Bran is not to be left alone, and his food and drink are to be prepared only by trusted hands. The story of his fall is that he slipped and hit his head, and his memory of the event is hazy. He must not speak of what he saw to anyone but us."
Ned nodded grimly. "Agreed. But the Lannisters… when we go to King's Landing…"
"When you go, Father," Robb corrected gently. "You must still go. To refuse now, after this incident, would look even more suspicious. It would confirm to them that Bran has talked and that we suspect them. You go, with your two hundred men. You investigate Jon Arryn's death. And you watch your back. I will remain here. I will protect Bran. I will strengthen the North. And I will ensure that the Lannisters know that any move against you or any Stark will bring the full wrath of the North down upon them – a wrath they cannot imagine."
His words were filled with a chilling conviction. Tony Volante was outlining a threat, drawing a line in the sand. Escanor's pride, even in its diminished state as evening approached, lent his words an undeniable authority.
Ned Stark looked at his son, truly looked at him. The precocious boy was gone. In his place stood a young man of formidable will and unsettling intensity. A man who had, by some miracle or impossible feat, saved his brother's life and now spoke of threats and wrath with the certainty of a seasoned warlord.
"So be it," Ned said heavily. "The game is more dangerous than I knew. But Starks do not shrink from danger."
That night, Robb Stark did not sleep. He stood by his window, looking out at the darkened castle. Rhitta was safe in its hidden compartment. His men were silent, bound by their oaths. Bran was alive and, for the moment, safe. The Lannister twins were afraid, uncertain.
He had changed the story. He had saved Bran. But in doing so, he had stepped further into the light, revealing a sliver of his true capabilities to his enemies. The stakes were higher now. The game more lethal.
As the last vestiges of sunlight faded and true night descended, Robb felt the residue of Sunshine leave him almost entirely, returning him to his "normal" enhanced human state, though the memory of noon's power was a brand on his soul. He was still strong, still possessed Ban's immortality and the potential of Snatch.
He smiled grimly in the darkness. Let them come, he thought. Let them plot and scheme. They think they play the game of thrones. They have no idea what game they've just stumbled into.
The North had a new kind of guardian. And the world would soon learn what happens when a wolf walks with the power of the sun.